


clock ticking (sudden silence)

by elareine



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Temporary Character Death, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Loss, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Timers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-22 16:47:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22619251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/pseuds/elareine
Summary: For twenty years, Dick Grayson has waited for his timer to begin ticking. When it finally does, there are only two issues: Jason is thirteen.And the timer only reads eighteen months.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 17
Kudos: 668





	clock ticking (sudden silence)

The thing about the timer was: It didn’t tell you anything about your soulmate, only how long you would have together.

Dick had heard people talking about how they ‘sensed’ who it was before they ever met the person, how they just knew their soulmate(s) would be sweet and gentle and fiery and perfect. Some even said it came to them in dreams, the vague shape of a face they loved more than anyone else. 

Privately, Dick thought that was bullshit. It was a timer, nothing more. They all had the same lettering, the same number system, everything. There was no way of knowing what the other person would be like.

When he had been a child, he’d thought he would meet his soulmate in the circus for sure. He couldn’t imagine anything different. Perhaps it would be an audience member, coming up to meet him after the performance. Maybe one of the countless children that tried to sneak in to watch, one of the ones that looked so poor, the circus owners decided to turn a blind eye and allow them some joy, therefore helping Dick meet the love of his life. 

But deep down, he’d always thought it would be another acrobat. Someone joining the circus. Someone who knew the sheer joy of flying, the thrill of danger and an audience. Someone to become part of his family. 

That dream crashed spectacularly, of course. Try as he might, Dick never found quite another dream to replace that one. Would they be handsome or beautiful? If they were his soulmate, he would think so for sure, and that was all that mattered. Would they be kind? Supportive? A rock to lean on? 

He’d told himself that it wouldn’t matter until his timer started, and maybe not even then.

Bruce’s timer, for example, was ticking. Dick had spotted it for the first time months into their partnership. He’d been confused, had asked if he had met Bruce’s soulmate—where were they? 

In those days, Bruce had still been willing to answer Dick’s questions. He said: Sometimes, even soulmate relationships didn’t work out. It was a chance, a hint, nothing more. With him being a vigilante, the choice to be together wasn’t as easy as kids’ movies made it out to be. 

(He had never actually mentioned the name of his soulmate. Back then, Dick had thought he knew anyway. Now, he wasn’t so sure.)

(He also thought Bruce had been full of shit that day.) 

His teenage years were pretty good, romantically speaking. Sexually, too. Some lovely puppy love, a bit of experimentation, the conclusion that yep, he was going to continue using the gender-neutral ‘they’ for his future soulmate, but probably not in the plural sense. 

Still, he kept waiting for his timer to start ticking. 

He heard about the new kid before he ever met him. He and Batman weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the time, but. Rumors spread, and soon, so did videos of the kid in the Robin mantle. Seeing how Dick was now twenty and very much not built like that anymore, the conclusion that he had been replaced was pretty much inevitable. 

It would be accurate to say Dick didn’t react well to the news. Bruce had every right to take in another child, but how dare he call him Robin? Nevermind that Dick himself had moved on from that title. It wasn’t Bruce’s to give. 

So his first time meeting the kid was already tense as hell. The fact that his timer started ticking the exact moment he laid eyes on Jason didn’t help. 

Dick was panicking. 

Jason was thirteen. 

He was _tiny_. 

Okay, he wasn’t, he was pretty average for his age, he went up to Dick’s chest, even, but the keywords here were ‘for his age’ _because Jason was thirteen._

Dick wasn’t a pervert, okay. There was nothing sexy about a teenager that had just hit puberty to him. His _replacement_ , nonetheless. His _brother_. 

But maybe all of that would’ve been fine. They could’ve become friends or made sure to meet up later in life when the age difference wouldn’t seem so monumental. Seven years wasn’t so much once both of you were out of puberty. Dick could’ve morphed from a big brother figure to something closer over time. He’d have enjoyed that, probably. 

But none of that would happen because the timer only had 18 months left from the day it began. 

Dick didn’t say anything to Jason. When the younger sought him out, he kept their interactions short. His ongoing problems with Bruce were a good enough reason to stay away from the manor, from Gotham, and to _never talk about this_. Either he would die far away from the kid, never to be mourned, or Jason himself would die, having lived unencumbered by soulmate that was way too old for him. It was better that way.

His friends found out in one of the worst ways possible: by accident, two days before the timer was due to stop. 

Jason had disappeared over a week ago. Dick had tried to warn Bruce, had fully intended to at least be in Gotham and _try_ to stop it from happening because although these things were rarely wrong, he knew he wouldn’t ever forgive himself for not trying—but Jason had disappeared so much earlier than he’d thought. 

In a way, that made it worse. If Jason had indeed been kidnapped (and according to Bruce, signs were that he’d left on his own, but you never knew what the incentive for that might’ve been), then Dick didn’t want to imagine the torture Jason would have to suffer in the week before he died. 

He still did, of course. That was why Kori and Wally had caught him staring at the ticking time bomb on his wrist. 

There was no need to explain, no way to hide what was happening. Kori sighed, “Oh, Dick,” and Wally was wrapped around him in a hug faster than Dick could tell that he was fine. 

“Is there anything we can do?” 

Dick looked into Kori’s beautiful green eyes and seriously considered the question. A speedster, an alien, a man trained by the world’s greatest detective. Together, they had saved the city—heck, the world—from certain disaster more than once. 

But they couldn’t fight against fate. Dick shook his head. 

Eventually, they made to leave, and truthfully, Dick was glad. He didn’t know how to talk about this. How to tell them that no, he had no idea where his soulmate was because he had rejected him, hadn’t even kept a close watch. 

But Kori turned around. 

“Just,” she closed her eyes, “is it one of us?” 

Understanding her fear all too well, he put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “No.” 

At least there was that. No one here would miss Jason. 

Bruce didn’t tell him when he found a lead, he just went. Dick wasn’t even mad about that. He hadn’t been entirely honest with Bruce, either. 

Besides, when he got the alert that the Batplane had taken off and saw his timer tick down its last hours, he already knew that Bruce would be too late. 

_00:00:02_. 

Dick watched the last hours tick down on his timer. Now that it was happening, he would give anything to be in Ethiopia. He barely knew the boy—nothing beyond his history and that he was Dick’s soulmate; that he was _Robin_ —but he knew that Jason didn’t deserve to die alone. 

Bruce hadn’t reached out to him at all. Neither had Alfred. 

_00:00:01_. 

It was agonizing. 

_00:00:00_. 

Jason’s last hour had begun. Dick set the stopwatch on his phone for sixty minutes. The timer didn’t go into so many details. He’d tried to find out just how accurate it was; the results had been dispiriting. Jason could, as of now, be dead. Or he could live and breathe and hope for another 59 minutes. 

The whole time, he prayed for his display to change. That Bruce would do the impossible once more, defeat fate, and buy Jason more time. Buy _them_ more time, now that Dick suddenly and painfully realized that he wanted there to be a _them_ so badly, in any way he could get. 

His stopwatch beeped. It was over. Dick hadn’t felt a thing, couldn’t have told you when his soulmate died, but it was over. 

When he heard about what actually happened, it was worse. 

Here’s a secret Dick never told anyone: He still wished Bruce had not even tried to revive the Joker. The old bastard had died that day like he deserved—unmourned. 

Once Dick went through Jason’s things.

Bruce wasn’t home—gone on one of these trips he took these days, the ones filled with revenge and darkness in a way they hadn’t been before. If Alfred knew what Dick was doing, he didn’t comment. And after all, Dick thought mutinously, why shouldn’t he be here? This had been his room, once upon a time. He had a right to see what happened to it.

There were books there now. So many books. Jason hadn’t been choosy; classic French literature was crammed in next to space operas and cowboy romance. When Dick idly pulled one out, he could see scrawled comments in the margins. Apparently, Jason had considered “The Great Gatsby” to ‘suck ass.’ 

The room itself was much more orderly than when Dick had been responsible for tidying it. No way to tell if that was because Jason was a neat-freak or because Alfred had cleaned it out since his death, though. 

It took Dick a second to realize what was missing. There was only one photograph, Batman and Robin heading into the night. Where were the family pictures? Dick remembered his own collection: his parents, the circus folk, his friends, Bruce and Alfred and Babs and Clark… 

Maybe Jason had taken them with him when he left. 

Still Dick’s eyes searched the room, hungry for something more personal than books and tidy clothes on a hanger. Finally, he saw it: a simple brown teddy bear, almost hidden by the curtains. 

“Hey, little buddy,” he murmured, crouching down. “What’re you doing in the corner like that?” 

In his mind’s eye, Dick could see Jason arguing with Bruce—or maybe just quietly seething in anger—, finally throwing the bear into the corner, his decision made. 

Dick hesitated, but—he couldn’t leave the bear. It shouldn’t lie here, abandoned in a mausoleum. It went home with him that night, and to every home since. 

It was such a fucking cliché, but after that, life went on. 

Dick could see the empty space Jason left behind in Bruce’s life, in Alfred’s, hell, even in Tim’s, in Gotham itself—but the only thing for him that had changed was the nature of his guilt. 

Eventually, he started dating again, unwilling to be chained to the ghost of a what-if. It was okay. People had relationships after their soulmates died. Sure, there were forums full of people complaining that nothing compared to dating _The One_. Wasn’t like Dick had anything to compare it to, though, so he was in the clear. 

He and Babs really gave it a try. There was no universe in which Dick wasn’t glad that they did. She would always be one of the most important people in his life. 

After they split up, the responsibilities keep piling onto him. Being a full-time vigilante with duties to more than city, to more than one team, heck, even to an international spy agency—it kept him busy. Distracted. Until fate found him again. 

Dick’s timer was ticking again, only this time, he genuinely had no idea who had set it off. Maybe he’d been too busy, too numb to notice during patrol. It wasn’t unheard, people gaining a second chance at a soulmate. Dick just hadn’t exactly considered the possibility for himself, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. 

It read two years. 

Dick wanted to throw something against the wall. Why? Why would he only be granted so little time? How much of it had he already wasted because he hadn’t noticed when it started ticking? 

How many chances would he be granted, just for his love to leave him? Was this to be his doom? 

_You sound like Batman._

Dick stopped and pulled himself up. The last time this had happened, he’d been twenty, unsure of his place in the family and the world, ill-equipped to handle an already devastating situation. 

That wasn’t him anymore. 

This time, he would take whatever time they had. And when it ended, he’d be grateful for it, and keep living his life. 

He just had to find them first.

There was a new vigilante in town. For months, he was but a rumor of a red helmet and dead bodies left in his wake—until he made his big move. 

The takeover of the Penguin lounge had been well-planned and viciously executed, and there wasn’t a damn thing any of them could do about it, not when all the Red Hood’s minions were loyal to him and his precautions excellent. He stayed far away from Batman and Robin; he seemed to have an understanding with Catwoman; his policy seemed to be to protect the street workers. 

Somehow, he’d moved himself to the bottom of Batman’s list. Still, Dick knew he made Bruce uneasy. All their attempts to find out more about the man failed. Even when Tim managed to listen in on the club’s communications for almost a whole day, all they got was a name: Red Hood. 

He was a rumor, until the day he sought out Dick on the rooftops. 

“Red Hood.” 

“Nightwing.” The other man’s voice was metallic, a voice modulator giving nothing away about its original timbre. “What brings you to Gotham?” 

“Helping out on a case.” Nightwing’s connection to Batman wasn’t a secret. Dick would be astonished if there was still a citizen left that didn’t know Nightwing and Robin I were the same person. “What brings you to this roof?” 

“You’re going after Sionis.” 

“Yes.” Or at least, he was _now_. 

“He hurt one of my own. He’s mine now. Stay away.” 

Dick did his best not to snort. That was bullshit. His own interest in the Sionis case had been cursory at best. If Red Hood had just waited three days to eliminate him, Dick never would’ve noticed. 

“What about him is so interesting that it warrants you coming out of hiding?” 

The helmet tilted to the side. Dick would be damned if he could tell you why he found the movement so provoking, but he did. “Who says it’s Sionis I’m interested in?” 

“Uh.” Dick was sure his eyes were wide behind the domino. Was Red Hood… hitting on him? 

“Tell Batman to stay out of my business.” 

With that, the other man shot a grapple and vanished. Dick made no move to follow him. 

Dick expected that to be it. He returned to Blüdhaven, leaving Gotham and its secrets for Bruce to deal with. Except that particular secret seemed to have singled him out. 

The first time he saw Red Hood in a fight in _his_ city, he did nothing, merely observing the other’s fighting skills critically. Not bad. He had clearly been trained in a variety of fighting styles and was quicker than you’d expect for a man of his size. His left hook was good enough to rival Bruce’s. 

Dick was still pretty sure he could take him in a fight. 

“Are you just going to watch?” Red Hood called out, gripping one of his attackers by the throat and dangling him into the air. 

“I dunno, you seem to have it pretty well in hand,” Dick sniggered. 

“Never mind.” Red Hood dropped the now-unconscious man, turning to disable the next one with a well-placed nerve strike. Dick noted that unlike some of the scenes he’d seen in Gotham, Red Hood seemed to have no interest in killing these men. That implied he had some sort of value system. Interesting. “Please leave. That was terrible.” 

Dick eyes the entrance of the alley. A group of armed thugs was gathering, clearly ready to strike. Decision made, he jumped from the roof, landing right beside Red Hood. “Sorry, but I can’t let you have all the fun.” 

“Spoilsport.” 

“You come into my city and then complain when I help you?” 

“Oh, is that what you call this? ‘Cause all I can see is you standing around and jibbering.” 

Dick thought the criminals he was currently sending a few thousand volts through might beg to differ. Between the two of them, they had the entire gang out in less than ten minutes. 

It was, Dick reluctantly conceded, fun. 

It became something of a regular occurrence after that. Nightwing would drop by Red Hood’s territory whenever he was in Gotham, and Red Hood would return the favor with regular visits to Blüdhaven. They’d banter, punch out some criminals, collect whatever they had come for, and go their separate ways. Not exactly a friendship, but something easy. Comfortable. 

Until the night they busted a heroin ring in an abandoned warehouse and found some kids hiding three rooms down. 

Dick saw the boy first. He couldn’t be more than twelve. His body was skinny, and not in the way teens sometimes got after a growth spurt. 

Not knowing what else to do, Dick gave a wave. “Hi. I’m Nightwing. What’s your name?” 

“I don’t want to tell you.” As soon as he uttered the words, the boy tensed, visibly expecting punishment. 

Dick smiled. “That’s okay. I’ll tell you a secret—Nightwing’s not my real name, either.” 

“Well, duh.” The teen scowled, but he did look less afraid. Then he looked over Dick’s shoulder and asked: “Who is that with my sister?” 

Dick turned around to see Red Hood kneeling and… wearing a blonde wig? He blinked.

The little girl in front of him hiccuped, still crying but visible distracted by the big shiny helmet. Wearing a wig. Where had Hood even found that? 

“That’s Red Hood,” Dick told him, trying to sound as if all of this was perfectly normal. God, he hoped the kids hadn’t heard the fighting. What a terrible time to pick this warehouse. 

“What’re vigilantes doing here? Is something happening? Were there guns?” 

“Sort of. I’m afraid this place isn’t safe, but we can bring you somewhere else for the night,” Dick said. 

Red Hood looked up and suggested: “The sisters on St John Street. They’re good people.” 

“No one will separate you,” Dick added. “Just help. Get you some food, somewhere to sleep safely.” 

The boy looked at them. “We’re not going back to—to—”

“You won’t have to,” Red Hood promised, and Dick nodded. Not if he had anything to say about it—and once he would investigate whoever it was that they were running from, he would have. 

“How about we accompany you?” Dick suggested. 

The boy looked hesitant, but the girl suddenly gave a giggle. “You can’t walk like that,” she told Red Hood. 

“Why not?” 

“You look silly, dummy!” 

“Well, that’s very rude of you to say.” And just like that, the wig still perched on the helmet, Red Hood stepped out onto the street. He was walking rather uncannily like a model, Dick noted with some amusement.

The girl followed him, still laughing and pulling her brother along. “No! Take it off!” 

“But I feel so pretty!” 

The distraction worked, and the walk to the center for vulnerable children passed quickly. Only there did Red Hood take off the wig, making a big show of stuffing into his belt to hide his ‘shame.’ “Your wish is my command, 

The girl’s priorities seemed to have changed, though. “C’mon,” told her brother, “they said there’s food in there.” 

But the teenager hesitated, looking at Dick. “Are you sure they’re okay?” 

Dick was about to reassure them again, heartbroken by the hesitant hope in their eyes, when Red Hood said: “Yeah. I stayed with them a few times when I was your age. They get it.” 

He didn’t mean the boy’s age, Dick realized. Jesus. 

“Okay.” 

Dick let them head in alone. They needed to see that they would welcome on their own, vigilante accompanying them or not. He would talk to the workers in a minute or two. 

Red Hood’s metallic voice broke the silence. “So, I’m assuming you’re going to look into whoever did this to them.” 

“You bet. Aren’t you?” 

“Oh, yes. You better be quick.” 

Dick had already planned on that, but: “Why?” 

“I do not like child abusers, and I clean up after myself.” With that statement, Red Hood gave a little wave. The casual movement was belied by the suppressed rage that suddenly seemed to pour out of his every pore. “See you.” 

Dick stared after him, undecided. 

He had allowed himself to be judge, jury, and executioner once, and never regretted it. Not once had he since felt the desire or need to be in that position again. 

Didn’t mean he didn’t get it. 

In the end, he decided to head inside. The kids needed him, and they were what was important here. 

Still. Life had just become a lot more complicated. 

“We should eat.” 

“Sure. Let’s have a picnic. Just you, me, the stars, and the person we’re staking out. How romantic.” 

“Shut up.” Red Hood casually dropped a lunchbox next to where Dick was sitting. “You haven’t eaten in all day.” 

“I’m not in danger of fainting, you know.” Still, Dick couldn’t help but open the box. “Pasta salad?” 

Red Hood shrugged. “Carbs.”

It honestly smelled terrific. Red Hood had even brought a fork. Dick was ready to dig in when he realized something. 

Red Hood was still wearing his helmet. 

“So… you’re just going to sit there and watch me eat?” 

Red Hood crossed his arms. “Well, if you say it like that, it just sounds creepy.” 

“Yeah, _exactly_. You don’t want any food?” 

“I’ll eat later.” 

Dick considered him. “I bet you I could get that off you in less than two minutes.” 

“Believe me, you don’t want to.” 

For the first time, the other vigilante turned his back to Dick. There was what Dick recognized to be a trigger device at the back of his helmet. Dick shuddered. Red Hood would rather have his head explode than someone see his face without his consent. 

“Okay, don’t take it off then. That looks like it would spoil the meal.” 

“My point exactly. Do you always talk so much when there’s food on the table?” 

Dick grumbled, but he did start eating after that. Damn. That pasta was goood. 

Three days later, Red Hood shot a man that was about to decapitate Dick with an ax. He even left the criminal alive. Dick tried not to be charmed. 

“Well, fuck.” Red Hood stared at the little dot on Dick’s display in dismay. “Guess it’s back to Blüdhaven for us.” 

“Looks like it.” Dick sighed. Just what he’d needed. His ride was back in Blüdhaven since he’d taken a detour through space on his way here. Looked like he’d need to borrow one from Bruce. It was that or public transport. 

As if he’d read his thoughts, Red Hood asked: “Want a ride?” 

“You got a car?” 

“Don’t sound so surprised, but no.” Hood fiddled with something on his belt. For a minute, nothing happened. Then Dick heard the noise of a smooth motor approaching. Red Hood made a ‘ta-da’ motion with his hand as a red and silver machine turned the corner. “I got a bike.” 

Dick whistled. “Wow, my little brother would love that.” 

“He got one of his own?” 

“Nah, he’s thirteen, just a kid.” That may be slightly too much information to give out, but Dick had honestly stopped caring at some point. “It’s all about skateboards for now.” 

“Is he turning his sick tricks in the local park or on the rooftops?” 

“You could always just meet him.” 

Red Hood snorted. “I have no desire to meet any more bats or birds.” 

“And yet you keep hanging out with me.” 

“Yeah.” A sigh. “Dunno why I keep doing this to myself.” 

Suddenly feeling defensive, Dick crossed his arms. “Hey, we’re not that bad.” 

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“You haven’t even met them.” Or Bruce wouldn’t be trying to milk Dick for information about their meetings. 

“Oh yes I have.” 

Red Hood froze. Dick pounced. “When?” 

But it was no use. “Look. I’ll make you a deal. We don’t talk about Batman anymore tonight, and you get to drive.” 

Dick considered that. “If I say no, are you just going to leave?” 

“Yupp.” 

“Fine.” 

Ten minutes later, with Red Hood’s arms wound tightly around his middle, the bike humming between his legs, Dick couldn’t even be mad.

Sometimes, Dick worried. Red Hood was too casual about his own life. Even as he made friends—not just Dick, but Roy and Kori and Artemis and, somehow, a Superman clone—he threw himself into the kind of situations that made even Dick take a step back and evaluate. 

He was too reckless. It was as if his life didn’t matter. If Hood went on like this, he’d be dead within a year or two—Dick froze. 

Could… could Red Hood be his soulmate? 

His timer had begun ticking again before he met the other vigilante on that rooftop. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have passed him on the street one day before that, though. Or rather, one night: It must’ve been in his Nightwing garb. If Red Hood knew, or suspected, that would explain why he sought Nightwing out. 

Granted, the odds were slim. But it was possible.

Funnily enough, Dick never once asked himself whether he wanted Hood to be his soulmates. Why wouldn’t he? Underneath that anger, he suspected Red Hood to be one of the kindest men he’d ever met, and he’d been nothing but supportive to Dick. 

Still. He had to treat this with caution. 

Look. Dick knew he should be with his friends and/or family, celebrating his birthday, not out here, jumping from rooftop to rooftop in Blüdhaven. It just felt… right, this year. Days like these, Dick couldn’t bear looking at what was left of his friends. All he would do was count the empty spaces. Patrol was safer, somehow. 

Of course, the one time he was looking for a distraction on his birthday, he didn’t find any. Blüdhaven was weirdly quiet. It took Dick two hours to figure out why. 

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, bemused. 

Red Hood, visibly startled, turned around—then swore when the two-bit criminal he’d been cornering took the chance to sprint off into the sunset. “Dammit, was that necessary?” 

“Eh, you’ll catch him. So?” 

“I was in the area, and I didn’t expect you to—never mind. What are you working on?” 

Dick shrugged as casually as possible. “Nothing in particular. Just patrol, business as usual, you know. How about you?” 

“I _was_ following a lead, but it just fled for the hills.” Red Hood sighed, always a funny sound through the helmet. 

“Ooops,” Dick said, not apologetic at all. “How about that. Whatever are you going to do with your evening.” 

He’d meant it as a joke—there was always more crime to hunt down—but the other man paused. “Actually. There’s something I wanted to show you.” 

‘Something’ turned out to be yet another rooftop perch, this time in one of the poorer districts. Dick didn’t get what was so special about this until the first family left their house. Another followed, and another, until there were about thirty people gathered, nearly half of them children. 

“Watch,” Red Hood murmured. 

One man put down a large bag and took out an object. For one terrible second, Dick thought it was a missile—but no. A rocket, but one of the harmless variety. 

The kids cheered as several of the adults prepared the fireworks. The first rocket went up, bathing the street in the light of its beautiful golden rain. It was quickly followed by a serious of smaller, purple blasts, underlined by a wheel of blue lights. 

“They do this once a month,” Red Hood told him. “To bring some light to the city.” 

Dick pressed his shoulder companionably into the other man’s. “This is neat. Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?” Ah, there was the embarrassed grumbling again. Dick had learned to tell. “Shut up already and watch, you’re louder than the fireworks.” 

He didn’t move away, though. Dick counted it as a win. 

“It was supposed to be me,” the woman whispered, over and over again. 

Dick kept his grip on her shoulder tight to keep her from running to into the fire and to her soulmate. He’d seen the body. There was nothing they could do. “I’m sorry, but—”

“You don’t understand!” she yelled, suddenly furious. “That’s my wife! My soulmate!” 

He wanted to tell her: “I do understand.” However, did he really? Jason had been more of a concept than a real person. 

(Red Hood, however little information Dick had about him, was very, definitely real. Dick tried not to imagine the kind of hole someone like that would leave in his life.) 

Instead, he said: “She wouldn’t want you to follow her.” 

With one last anguished cry, the woman collapsed against his chest. 

As he watched the police car drive off, Dick considered going home. As far as he was concerned, this night could go fuck itself. But… he didn’t want to be alone. 

“Can’t be easy, something like that.” 

Relief flooded Dick at the metallic voice even before he turned around to greet the other vigilante. With Red Hood, he wouldn’t have to be alone. He knew that deep in his bones. 

“No,” he replied belatedly. “No, it can’t be. Isn’t.” 

“Are you alright?” 

Dick frowned. “Yes? This hasn’t been a great night so far, but patrol is nearly over, so—” 

“You’re bloody.” 

“Oh.” Dick lifted his hands and studied the scratches that now marked him. “It’s fine.” 

Red Hood, though, took one of Dick’s hands in his and studied it as if to inspect the wounds. “Those are gouges.” 

“She was desperate.”

“Understandable.” Red Hood dropped Dick’s hand. It felt cold. “I think if I lost my soulmate, I would go searching for them in any way I could. Try to save them, somehow.” 

There was something pointed about these words. Dick couldn’t quite grasp it. “Destiny doesn’t negotiate.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Brought me here, didn’t it?” 

And that was—

Dick closed his eyes, just to think for a moment. The way the other man was behaving, there was good reason to think he might suspect himself to be Dick’s soulmate. All Dick would have to do was ask, and maybe, just maybe, something he’d wanted for a very long time would be within his grasp. 

But Jason’s shadow still loomed over him. He couldn’t forget that boy. He mustn’t. It was the least of what he owed him. 

“I had a soulmate before,” Dick told him. 

Red Hood cocked his head to the side. “Had?” 

Somehow, his tone was more surprised than emphatic. That didn’t exactly fill Dick with confidence, but he continued: “He died. My timer was set for only eighteen months. He was—he was just a boy, really.” 

Suddenly he realized he was crying. It was the first time he’d let his guard down, really down, about this, and something about Red Hood made it impossible for him to pull it back up. 

Embarrassed, he covered his face with his hands. “I’m sorry.” 

Gloved hands settled on his shoulders. “Hey, no, it’s okay, you don’t have to—“ 

“I fucked it up, Hood. Left him alone. It was selfish and stupid and I—I can’t—” Dick stopped talking. It wouldn’t come out without sobs, anyway. 

Red Hood’s hands stayed on him during the minutes he cried silently, pressing down hard enough to hurt Dick, to anchor him; but he didn’t say anything. He just waited, and when Dick was coherent again, he asked: “What happened?” 

“He died,” Dick said simply. “I murdered his killer, but that does not bring him back.” 

There was a long silence. It should’ve been tense, nervous, now that even the last of Dick’s secrets had been exposed. Instead Dick felt resigned. Either this would be too much, even for the Red Hood, or not. 

This was who he was. There was no changing that, no matter how hard he’d tried. 

“Well, _fuck_ , now I’m not even slightly angry with you anymore, what the fuck.” 

Dick frowned. That… wasn’t what he’d expected. “What do you mean?” 

“You know I fully intended on some kind of revenge plot here? I thought maybe a dramatic reveal in front of all of the bats, you know, or at least something accompanied by a lot of yelling and triumph, not to mention bloodshed,” the Red Hood told him almost conversationally as he stood back and began fiddling with the mechanism at the back of his helmet. “But no, you have to go and be a much better man than I thought, Dickie. Of fucking course.” 

All the alarm bells began to ring in Dick’s head. “What did you just call me?” 

The helmet came off. 

“…Jason?” 

They were so different. Hood was taller than Jason; a man instead of a boy. His hair was dark, yes, but there was white streak running through it. His jaw had filled out, his bearing straightened, his eyes turned slightly greener.

And yet. 

Dick _knew_.

“Yeah. Uh. Surprise. Guess you didn’t know? I wasn’t completely sure before today.” 

Dick filed the notion that Jason thought him (or the rest of the family, for that matter) capable of just quietly ignoring his resurrection away for some other day. Right now, he was too busy trying to breathe. 

“Dick?” There was concern in that voice now. “Are you okay?” 

“Am I—” Breathing. “ _How_?” 

“Maybe you should sit down?” Jason looked like he expected Dick to faint any minute now. Dick admitted that might not be too far from the truth ‘cause _what the fuck_ , but it didn’t matter right now, because: “You died.” 

“Yes.” Jason ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Don’t ask me how or I got out of that grave, I don’t either.” 

Dick didn’t know what to say to that. 

“Talia al Ghul rescued me,” Jason continued, talking more quickly as if wanting to get it over with. “I wasn’t whole, so… Lazarus Pit. And then she trained me and told me a whole bunch of stuff, some of which turned out to be true, some of which didn’t. And now I’m here.” 

“But—” he whispered. This was dialogue straight out of a terrible Hallmark movie, but he needed to know. “My timer—”

“Dick,” Jason looked at him with a steady gaze, “my timer has read the same time ever since I met you.” He lifted his wrist and pulled off the leather glove. 

_46:04:13._

Dick stared at it helplessly. That was the kind of number he’d only ever dreamed of. And it was supposed to be his and Jason’s? 

His and Jason’s. Because Jason was his soulmate, returned to him from the dead without Dick’s knowledge or help. That, finally, what was got through the shock, rattling Dick back into reality. 

Dick looked him into the eyes—and God, those _eyes_ ; if there hadn’t been that helmet, that modulator, Jason would’ve had no way of hiding himself—and said something he’d wanted to say for seven years: “I’m sorry.” 

“I told you I’m not angry anymore.” 

“I should’ve been there for you,” Dick insisted. 

For the first time, Jason looked away. “In a way, you were.”

“I was what?” 

“There with me. I can’t speak for what was happening when I was dead—don’t remember, mostly glad about that—but when I clawed my way out of that grave, I had no idea who you were. I had no idea who I was, really. But I saw that timer and knew that someone, somewhere, was waiting for me.” 

Dick couldn’t help himself, reaching out with trembling hands to finally, finally pull Jason close. Burying his head in the other man’s shoulder, he whispered tremulously: “I was, Jason. I didn’t even know it, but I was.”

Strong arms wrap around him to hold on just as tightly. For the first time in years, Dick felt his head quieten. 

Still he had to ask: “How can you forgive me?” 

“Okay, one? As an adult myself now, I completely understand why you freaked out. Teenagers are _babies_. A+ not taking advantage of me.” 

Dick chuckled wetly. 

“Two… I’ve seen you open your heart again. Tim, he’s actually your brother. Your friends.” Jason was talking into his hair ear now. Maybe it was easier that way. “You keep doing that, Dick, just opening up and taking people in and being vulnerable, and I don’t know how you do that, really, it’s kinda worrying, but—I cannot blame you for being tired just one time of losing people.” 

“You should,” Dick told him, “I do.” 

“Yeah, well, no-one said you were smart.” 

That got a laugh out of Dick. He let it shake through him, then asked: “Why did you hide when you came back?” 

“I didn’t want to see Bruce. Still don’t.” Jason’s voice was matter of fact. 

Dick knew they would have to talk about that. Not now. “Why come back at all, then?” 

“It’s my home. Also, I didn’t want to just give up on you, you know?” 

The side of Jason’s neck was naked and vulnerable without the helmet. Dick pressed a kiss there in gratitude. 

“When I didn’t know if you figured out my identity or not, I wanted to see what happened,” Jason continued. “I figured, this situation is fucked up and all, but it’s also a chance.” 

“A chance?” 

“My last turn as a vigilante in Gotham was kinda a shitshow. So I thought I’d just prove that—that I could be what you want. That I could do better. I don’t know if I can ever be good, not the way you and Batman want me to be—” 

“Jason,” Dick interrupted him, pulling back to look at Jason; his voice fierce with the obviousness of what he had to say, “you are _exactly_ what I want. If I had ever taken any time to know you before, I’d have known that, and I wanted you since I got to know you as the Red Hood. If you think there is any way I am letting you go again—“ 

Now they were talking in circles. Jason seemed to notice that, too, for he cupped Dick’s jaw mid-sentence and kissed him. 

It was a hesitant kiss, slightly at odds with the confident way Jason acted otherwise; Dick realized with a pang that, of course, his teenage years hadn’t lent themselves to the same experimentation that Dick’s had. Still, he was so gentle, not letting go of Dick even as his hand trembled on his face, and the soft sigh he let out when Dick cupped his nape was nothing short of sweet. 

There was a softness in this that warmed Dick from the inside out. 

When they pulled apart, Dick had to giggle. This night had been an emotional rollercoaster; he felt air-headed and silly with it. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.” 

“Not good for the reputation,” Jason agreed, his voice low. Dick liked it. 

“Come home with me?”

“Sure.” 

When Dick looked surprised at Jason’s easy acceptance, Jason shrugged. “I’ve been dying to take that mask off of you. Knowing you, it’s glued on with a special mixture only you got the remover for, though.” 

Well, he wasn’t wrong. “Oh,” Dick said, remembering something. “Actually, I got someone at home who would _love_ to see you.” 

“Don’t tell me you got a kid that I somehow missed.” 

“Nah. Better.” Dick smiled. “A bear.” 

The next morning, after he woke up in Jason’s arms; after they showered separately and ate breakfast together and just tried to parse out what this meant for the rest of their lives—that morning, Dick looked at his timer and saw that it now read _07:04:22_. 

Jason seemed fascinated by the change. “I think I read a study about mismatched timers before. There’s a theory that they reflect our choices really more than our fate, and are meant to influence our actions—maybe I should look it up…”

“I think,” Dick said firmly, “that we should cover the damn things up and never look at them again.” 

Jason considered that. “Yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan.” 


End file.
